Sanctuary
by sick-atxxheart
Summary: When Harry was seven years old, he was rescued by his father, Severus. The boy had been a slave- his name was 'freak' and his status was 'unworthy'. His father didn't see until it was too late- the damage was already done.
1. Beginning

**Hello, all! Here is the first reposted chapter of 'Sanctuary'. As most of you know, I have 18 chapters written in plot, and now 1/18 rewritten. This is almost 1000 words longer than the original chapter, and I think it's better. There is more detail. Please read and review!**

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_When Harry was seven years old, he was rescued by his father. _

_The boy had never known anything besides pain and hard work, despite his tender young age. His name was 'freak', and his status was 'unworthy'. A slave, a slave treated without any trace of respect or any sense of righteousness._

_His father didn't see until it was too late. He had been blinded, blinded by his own pain too much to see that someone needed him. Someone, the little boy he truly did love- that little one wasn't with his father. And he needed to be._

_Too late, for both of them. The damage was already done._

--

The house was dark and the stars in the sky outside were just fading when the seven-year-old boy dragged himself out of bed after an insistent pounding on his cupboard door woke him. Uncle Vernon was awake, getting ready for work before anyone else was up, and consequently Harry was also required to be up, hard at work making breakfast. Harry rubbed the sleep from his bleary eyes as his small feet padded into the kitchen, barely making a sound on the perfectly polished floor. He was completely silent; that was how it had to be, according to the rules. He wasn't worthy to make sounds; and if he did, punishment would soon follow.

Harry had not grown up happily. All his life, he had been told he was unloved, unwanted- and he had come to believe that to be the utmost truth, and the only fact that truly mattered in his life. If he remembered those two simple facts, along with the rules that had been laid down for him, he would be fine and be able to function properly as a freak. At least that was what his aunt and uncle and cousin had told him.

All his life, Harry had had strange dreams. Sometimes, they were of a bright green light and a woman screaming; sometimes, they were of a pale-faced man with dark hair; and sometimes, they were of flying on a giant motorcycle. He had learned early on not to talk about his dreams, because they were only the dreams of a freak; but still, he marveled in his dreams, because they allowed him to escape the cruel reality that was his life. All he had ever wanted was to be loved, and that had slipped out of his grasp as easily and as quickly as possible; now, his dreams were the only way to run, if only for a moment.

He had been told early on that his no-good parents had died in a car crash, and it was for the best anyway, because they weren't worth anything and didn't deserve to live. That had made Harry cry when he first heard it, not only because his parents were dead and they would never love him, but also because they had been no-good, at least according to his aunt and uncle. Harry also believed with all his heart that it was shame that he had been left behind, because now he was just a burden. That's exactly what he was. A burden.

The lights dimly brightened the kitchen far over Harry's head, and he reached up high to grasp the handle of the frying pan he was using to prepare bacon. Harry was always careful; he had had experiences with being burned by a pot or having something spill all over him, and he personally didn't prefer the experience not only because of the uncomfortable aspect of it but also because he was always scolded very severely for messing up. But Harry was tired, because the mattress in his cupboard wasn't at all soft. He could hear Uncle Vernon's loud footsteps upstairs.

Fighting a yawn, Harry dropped the frying pan, and he stared at it with a mixture of surprise and horror. Already he could hear the footsteps thundering angrily on the steps.

--

Meanwhile, a pale-faced man with black hair and black robes had just arrived on the quiet, perfectly lined and arranged street of Privet Drive. It was too perfect for his tastes; Muggles always had to strive for perfection, even if it was just in little things like cutting grass or pruning shrubbery. It never made sense to the man, and he didn't like being on the street. But nonetheless, he had business there- business that had been pushed to the side for six years, six years too long.

The houses all matched and everything was silent as he approached his destination, his quiet footfalls barely making a sound on the carefully layered cement in the sidewalk. He was nearing the house where his son was; Number Four, Privet Drive.

As he approached, he couldn't help but feel an immense sense of guilt wash over him as he realized that the prospect of him getting his son back was real, and right in front of him. When Lily, his wife, had died six years back, he had been so blinded by pain that he had allowed his mentor, Albus Dumbledore, to sweep his son right out of his hands. He hadn't revolted against it; even he wouldn't have been able to admit that he was a mess, and in no condition to take care of a small boy. Grief and pain and loss had overwhelmed everything in his mind, and for so many years he had been lost, buried inside of himself, blind to anything and everything around him. To his extreme regret, Harry had been pushed to the side, and every thought that revolved around the fact that his son might need him had been misplaced in the immensely complicated maze that made up the man's mind. Those few facts were what caused the man's guilt, and he could only hope that his son could forgive him to replace the fact that he couldn't forgive himself.

He was a deeply complicated man, and he had been amazed all that time at the way that grief could affect him. He had always thought that he had one of the strongest minds- unbreakable, infallible, impenetrable- and many people had told him that same thing. But when faced with grief, and the loss of everything he held close to his ice-cold heart, that strength had been torn apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left. It was in those moments that he had seriously considered turning to the Dark, and only the careful persuasion of Dumbledore had kept him from completely going over- as a spy, he became an essential part of the lives of many others. As a spy, he was crucial to the Light- and because of that, his life had meaning. He was living up to Lily's name- he was saving the people and the world she loved. His life had meaning again.

But still, it had taken him time to regain his strength. He had been forced to be strong as a spy, and he had learned quickly how to do it; but now that his son was the focus of his life again, as it should have been for the past six years, he was just as scared as when he had first joined the Dark. This was new, and what was more, this couldn't be predicted. Harry could have been treated badly and be a haunted little boy, or Harry could have been treated like a prince and not want to leave his 'foster' family in the first place. It was all a matter of fate, and even luck if you wanted to see it that way. All Severus was hoping for was that destiny was on his side. He would do anything to have his son back.

Number Four looked similar to all the other houses lining the street, but in an unusual way there was a bit of noise resounding from the structure. The man's carefully trained instincts were alerting him that something was wrong, and aside from that he couldn't deny that his heart was telling him the same thing. His steps sped up and his eyes took on a glassy tint; but still the walls he had built around himself remained intact.

--

"BOY!" Uncle Vernon, already dressed for work, hissed in a very menacing whisper. "I told you not to make a sound! What's the matter with you, freak? Don't remember the rules?!"

It went on and on, the words getting louder and louder as the huge man moved closer to the small, shaking boy. Harry was babbling apologies, tears streaming down his face as he tried in vain to get away from his uncle. "Pwease- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- pwease, Uncle Vernon, I'm sorry- I didn't mean to, really I didn't. Pwease, I promise to be good, pwease, I'm sorry-"

--

The man quickly made it to the front door of Number Four, and he listened intently with sharpened hearing to the angry words that were coming from the interior. He couldn't make out everything, but he heard the words 'boy', 'freak', 'noise', 'rules', and 'punishment'. He did not like that combination; he knew that the people at Number Four, the Dursleys, had their own son, and he hoped with all his heart in that moment that it wasn't his own son being so cruelly reprimanded. When the harsh words didn't cease, a whispered 'Alohomora' unlocked the door with a quiet click, and the man stepped into the house.

The floor was carpeted and the stairs rose above directly from the foyer, and he could see a small cupboard was under the stairs, which he assumed was used for coats and things. Bypassing that as unimportant, he continued on, his movements showing off the stealth and secrecy that he had perfected as a spy.

Stepping into the doorway of the dimly lit kitchen, he saw a very large, fat man with a very purple face holding a small child with black hair, glasses, and a scar on his forehead. His hand was back and he was yelling, and as he watched the fat man hit the child hard on his shoulder. The boy cried out, looking terrified, and the pale-faced man's heart ripped at the very sound. This was undoubtedly his son. And this was undoubtedly his fault.

"Stop." The word was spoken with an authority and an anger that was blazing inside of the pale-faced man. The fat one turned, still holding the child, and his anger was sparked yet again when he saw a stranger inside of his home. Ignoring the man's protests and bursts of words demanding that he leave, the pale-faced man spoke again. "Let go of my son."

Dursley spun around, surprisingly fast for his size, meanwhile dropping Harry, sobbing, onto the tiled floor. "What did you say? What do you want with this one?" He kicked at the small crying boy, and Harry cried out again. Severus fought with himself to stay still and not kill the man immediately with two simple words.

"He is my son," Severus spoke calmly, but his voice seethed anger and rage, and Dursley heard it too. He shrunk back in the tiniest bit, but he still held his ground.

"Want this one, do you?" He sneered, kicking at Harry again. Harry whimpered. "He's a freak, this one is- don't know why you want him."

"Regardless," the pale-faced man said, his eyes blazing now with even more fury, "he is mine, and I have come for him."

"FINE!" Dursley roared, picking up the child and throwing him across the room with a crash. "Take him! And don't bring him back!"

Ignoring the man's threats, he picked up his son gently. "Where does he sleep?" He asked coldly, and he was shown (accompanied by a lot of stomping) to the very cupboard under the stairs that he had originally assumed was for coats. Fuming with anger, he opened the door slowly, meanwhile whispering to Harry, "Shh, child. I won't hurt you." He gasped when he saw the spiders that were crawling all through the walls and the darkness that seemed to permanently reside in the small space.

He looked around, and then set Harry down, instructing him in a whisper to gather his things. Harry quickly scrambled around in the small space, amazingly able to maneuver into small nooks and crannies that the pale-faced man hadn't even noticed. A small blanket, a few broken crayons, a small plastic toy soldier, and an old, torn up, completely filled-out coloring book were all that he had, and Harry's father almost broke when he saw his son forlornly holding his few possessions. He gathered Harry up in his arms again, noticing with a grimace the boy's flinch at the touch, and with a final murderous look at the other man, he spun on his heel and he and his son were gone.

--

**Please review. And please tell me: does why and how Harry came to be with the Dursleys make more sense now that it did in the original?**

**Review! Thanks!**


	2. Realization

Apparition scared Harry, and Severus held the sobbing boy close to his heart as they arrived at Severus' home, Prince Manor. The place had been in the family for years, and although Severus wasn't particularly fond of it because of the less-than-happy memories it brought back, it was still his home nevertheless and he was happy he had somewhere to come back to. Severus had always hoped that one day he, Harry, and Lily would be able to live here happily together again, as a family, but long ago he had given up that hope. Tears sprang to his eyes as he realized that half of that dream was being fulfilled.

The boy in his arms was shaking, and Severus whispered soothingly to him, amazed at his own kindness, until the green eyes that could either make or break Severus stared up into his own black ones. "I'm sorry, sir," Harry said immediately, struggling to get out of Severus' grasp. "Please… I'm sorry. I'll go away. Please… don't hurt me. Please."

Surprised, Severus sat Harry down on the floor immediately and sank down into one of the comfortable armchairs that adorned the sitting room. Harry scrambled, quicker than Severus had ever seen a child move, over to the corner, where he wrapped himself up in a ball and seemed to almost disappear. Severus supposed it was a skill learned over many years of torment- make yourself unnoticeable, and no one will see you. Make yourself invisible, and you won't get hurt.

As he leaned back in the chair, Severus cried. He had cried so much in the past seven years that it seemed impossible that tears would come; but they did, and Severus succumbed to them willingly, uncaring, knowing the reason for his tears was a valid one. He had been so blind, so unbearably, unbelievably blind... Lily's death had led to his being lost in misery, lost in the grief of losing his wife. He hadn't realized that in the process, he had lost his son along the way. Harry had been taken away from him; Severus had been in no condition to care for his one-year-old, let alone care for himself. He had allowed Harry to be taken away, and his immense guilt almost crushed him. The worst part is, Severus hadn't even been able to grasp the fact, in that moment, that Harry would be less than happy with Lily's sister.

But Harry had been less than happy.

Severus couldn't even think the word _abuse_. He didn't think it was even possible, that _his_ son could be abused just because he was who he was. But what he had seen pointed to it; Harry's words and demeanor pointed to it; and Severus guessed that Harry's small body would carry scars of it. Merlin, he had messed up _so_ badly. Severus had always been the strong one, and in those years that he had been lost, his son had been made into something that resembled him, the one thing that Severus had hoped wouldn't happen. Broken, shattered. A spirit crushed, a childhood ruined. Just like Severus, Harry would be living with the memories of torture and mistreatment that would surely haunt him just as they still haunted Severus. Severus hated himself for that.

Rubbing his face with one hand and rising, Severus made himself a strong cup of tea and noticed that Harry had fallen asleep in the corner. He sighed. He didn't blame the small boy. He was still very young, and yet from what he had heard and figured out the boy had been forced to do work that many children twice his age wouldn't have even thought about doing.

His son moved around quite a lot in his sleep, and Severus wondered why that was while at the same time exulting at the way he could now say _my son_. Severus wondered if Harry, too, was haunted by dreams. He expected him to be.

His suspicion was confirmed when Harry began thrashing around and crying out in his sleep in his little corner. The boy had wrapped into an even tighter ball, and although he had rolled on to one side, the minuscule quality that seemed to constantly hover around his son's body still scared Severus beyond means. He had never thought of himself as one who would be a caring, considerate parent, but now it turned out he was.

Severus made his way over to the boy and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, shaking Harry and trying to calm him without scaring him. As it turned out, he didn't succeed. Harry jolted awake and had stood up before Severus could even react.

"I'm sorry- I didn't mean to, I'll never fall asleep again, I'm sorry, Uncle Vernon- pwease, I'll be better- don't hurt me, pwease..." Harry's frightened whimpers continued as Severus swept the boy into his arms.

"Shhh, Harry," he murmured, rubbing the child's back. "Remember? It's your father, you're my boy, nobody's going to hurt you. I promise. Shh, child… I'm here…."

Harry was comforted, or at least silent, after awhile, and Severus sat him down on the floor again. The boy stood, at his full height barely reaching his father's waist. He was definitely undernourished. Severus was silent as Harry stood, just contemplating; the silence was awkward though. Harry was obviously waiting for direction, while Severus seemed to be waiting for divine inspiration. He had no idea what to say.

"Harry, child," Severus spoke quietly, as not to scare his son. Harry looked startled when he realized Severus was speaking to him kindly. "Do you understand why you are here?" He moved over to sit on the loveseat, hoping Harry would join him; his hopes weren't fulfilled, though. Harry continued to stand.

The boy shook his head, his black hair and green eyes reminding Severus with a start of how much he looked like a perfect combination of him and Lily.

"You are my son," Severus repeated, "And you are going to live with me."

Harry looked up at him finally, and once again those eyes- Lily's eyes- threatened to tear the life right out of Severus. "My parents are dead, sir." he whispered, tears shining in the green eyes. It almost broke Severus' heart.

"That is a lie," Severus said, his voice breaking as he realized tears were streaming unbidden down his face. "Your mom is dead, but I'm not."

Harry nodded silently, and he seemed to be working up the courage to ask a question. Severus nodded encouragingly. "Are you my daddy?"

Severus smiled, and he hugged the boy. Harry seemed uncomfortable but he didn't fight it. Severus knew that he was only used to taking what came, and not caring about his discomfort or pain; but that would change soon, and Harry recognizing the situation was good.

Yes, Harry. I'm your daddy, and you're never going back to that horrible place."

--

**To be continued…**

**Almost 600 words longer! Yay! I hope this is better.**

**Please review. I only got 3 reviews the last chapter?! I mean, what's up with that?**

**Review!**


	3. Learning

After a moment of light bonding, Harry had returned to his state of awkwardness in his corner, and Severus was satisfied with their progress for the moment. Harry eventually fell asleep, and Severus didn't want to wake him. He looked so tiny, a little ball of a child who had been hurt so badly. Every time Severus saw his green eyes- _just like Lily's_- and the black hair that very nearly matched his own, his heart broke because he was reminded of what had been lost.

Severus carried Harry to the guest room and placed him on the bed. The room was dark, and with a quick spell Severus set a nightlight that would last until the daytime. It was still very early in the day, but no child that age should be up that early, especially to work. Severus remembered his own childhood, and the realms of torture that had created his daily life for years. The fact that Harry had followed in his father's footsteps, in this tragic and horrible way, was practically shattering to Severus.

Severus went and sat in the kitchen to think. So many things had happened, and it all seemed overwhelming. Harry was obviously scarred in more ways than one; not only on his body, but his mind had learned to live in the ways of the evil Muggles. He thought he was worthless, and he expected everyone to think of him that way. It was almost unbearable that any child would be treated that way! Severus swore that the Dursleys would be punished.

After awhile, Severus decided that Harry would most likely be hungry. He walked slowly into his son's room; he knew the boy would still be scared, but he wanted to be as cautious as possible. At first his mind had revolted at the thought of waking the child up and frightening him; but if his suspicions were right, the little boy hadn't had much to eat in the past few days, and from experience Severus knew that wasn't happy.

"Harry?" he called, a bit loudly, as to wake the boy up. The boy started, and in an instant Harry was standing, rubbing sleep from his eyes and trying to look attentive. Severus marveled at the boy's amazing control over both his mind and his sleep patterns- to be awake, standing, and ready in two seconds flat was a feat that was hard to accomplish.

"Sir- I'm sorry, sir, I don't know how I got in the bed- I'll never do it again-" Harry's eyes were wide with fear, and Severus could see him trembling lightly.

"Harry," Severus said soothingly, trying his best to keep his voice low and controlled, "I put you there, and that is your bed. You can sleep there whenever you want."

"Really?" Harry looked up in wonder at the big bed, and then he looked scared at the fact that he had just asked a question. But with a shy look at Severus, he said softly, "Thank you sir! Thank you."

Severus smiled; he was glad that Harry would be so trusting, at least at small things such as a bed. He knew that trust in the way he was treated would be a different matter, but they would come to that hurdle in time. For now, speaking and believing was the most important thing.

"How about some breakfast?" Severus said, looking down at the boy appraisingly. He was beginning to get the idea that with Harry, you never knew what his reaction would be. So it was with abused children, and again Severus cursed himself.

"Oh, yes sir! Of course!" Harry scrambled out of the room, moving fast for someone so young and frail. Severus followed him, wondering where the boy could be going, but with a curious suspicious sense of mind as he walked. They ended up at the kitchen, and Harry said softly, "What do you want me to make, sir? I can make pancakes, or eggs, or anything you want-"

"I will make the breakfast," Severus said firmly. So the boy had been a slave? Not only abused, but a slave? Severus' face burned with contained fury. _Those people will pay._

"Sit down, Harry, please," Severus said, pointing at a chair next to the table, his face impassive.

"I'm… allowed to sit, sir?" Came the tentative question. Harry looked so small in his too-big clothes with his small body.

"Of course you are," Severus said, a little bitterly; but thankfully, the boy didn't catch the tone. "Sit down, please."

Severus busied himself with making eggs, without looking at Harry. He wanted the boy to see that Severus was the parent, _not him_, and that Severus would take care of them, _not him._ That was an important lesson, and one Severus hoped Harry would learn soon enough. It would definitely take time. But for now, giving Harry the example of what was the _right_ way to live was all he could do.

Severus brought two steaming plates of eggs to the table, and set one down in front of Harry and one in front of himself. To his surprise, Harry was crying silently, tears streaming down his small face and into his lap.

"Why are you crying?" Severus asked, surprised and a bit shocked.

Harry shook his head, and the tears immediately stopped (another amazing feat), but then he said, "I'm sorry, sir. Why are you so nice to me?"

"Because you're my son," Severus explained, sighing. This was going to be a long day. "It's my job to take care of you." Severus hated the fear Harry seemed to have of questions.

Harry accepted that answer, and stared at the plate of food in front of him. Severus began eating; the eggs were very good, and Severus was hungry. "Why aren't you eating?" he asked, almost dreading the answer. He was right; the answer made him beyond angry.

"I'm allowed to eat? Sir?"

"Of course you are, my boy," Severus said kindly. None of this was Harry's fault. "Eat up."

Harry dug in with excitement in his eyes, shoveling his mouth full of food and swallowing greedily.

Severus asked the question he feared: "When was the last time you ate, Harry?"

Harry looked up at him with guarded eyes, the green, gray, and black specks in them shining. "Um… four days ago, sir," he answered softly. "But I got a few bread crusts yesterday. They were so good… it was because I finished all my chores before Uncle Vernon got home."

Severus stopped listening. _Four days?_ Without eating? For a seven-year-old child? It was inconceivable. Something had to be done.

Severus was _so glad_ that he had rescued Harry, and with each passing moment he hated himself more. He had been so caught up, and so blinded… his own pain had left him unaware of his surroundings, and for that he cursed himself. Here this little boy was, _his_ little boy, and he was so broken it wasn't even funny.

Severus promised it _would_ get better.

--

**TBC…**

**I am so sorry about the delay, so insanely sorry. It's been over two months. But here's an update for you. I realize that those of you who already reviewed each chapter can't do it again, but if you haven't, feel free to leave me a review. Thanks.**


	4. Maybe

Even with Harry's situation, he was still immensely trusting of Severus. The Potions Master couldn't help but have an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was the first person who had ever truly been kind to the child; and that sickened him. But regardless, he was extremely glad that Harry was in fact willing to allow Severus to care for him.

Harry was still eating; an onlooker would have thought that the boy had an unlimited stomach for food, but Severus knew the boy was just hungry after four days of nothing. All in all, it made sense; Severus doubted that the child had had much to eat before those four days in the first place. Those facts still unnerved him to no end; how could someone be so cruel to a child?

Severus watched Harry for a while, and then decided to ask questions. He carefully kept his voice low, without any hint of confrontation laced through it. "How are you feeling, Harry?" His words were kind, but even with all the precautions Severus had taken Harry jumped at the sound of his voice.

The boy glanced up at him through hooded lashes, his green eyes forever startling in the dimmed light. "Fine, sir," he said quietly, picking at the piece of egg still sitting in front of him. Severus had eagerly made him more food, knowing that was what the boy wanted, even though he hadn't asked. The man wouldn't be surprised if Harry was sick later, but for the time being he wanted Harry to have all the food he wanted.

"Harry, don't lie to me," Severus said gently, looking at the child kindly. He knew Harry was lying by the darting eyes and the slumped shoulders; he himself had always been a bad liar, but had quickly broken that habit once he had joined the Death Eaters. "I always want you to tell me the truth, no matter what it's about. You need to tell me if you feel hurt or sad or _anything._ Do you understand, child?" At Harry's nod, Severus prompted him once again. "Now, Harry, how are you feeling?"

"I…" Severus nodded encouragingly as Harry began to speak softly. He wanted the boy to feel comfortable around him, but he of course knew that he couldn't expect _too_ much. "I hurt, sir."

Harry's voice was soft and almost _fearful_ and Severus sighed inaudibly, all the while nodding. That was what he had expected from the child.

"Come here, Harry," he requested gently. The boy scrambled off the bench he had been seated on and stood hesitantly in front of Severus. Severus lightly grasped the boy's shoulders, without using force. He turned him around to lift up the back of his shirt, and when he did he gasped despite himself.

Dark bruises covered the boy's thin frame, and scars crisscrossed across his back. It truly was a gruesome sight, and one that Severus never wanted to see again on his son. Harry kept his face down, tears streaming down his cheeks as Severus ran one pale, long finger along a particularly nasty scar.

He had known that his child was abused at the Dursleys; that much had been obvious when he had first set foot in the house. However, he hadn't suspected that the damage would have been _this_ extensive. No wonder Harry was so scarred, both figuratively and literally; what he had lived through was surely a hell that Severus would condemn no one to, especially a child.

Severus turned Harry around again to face the front and lifted the rest of his shirt. It was just as bad as his back had been; what was more, Severus could see how thin Harry was. His ribs were showing through the skin on his belly, and all his bones seemed to stick out in the wrong places. Idly, Severus wondered if the child had broken bones that had healed irregularly; it wouldn't have surprised him, and he subconsciously vowed to check when he had the time.

Taking the little boy's hand, Severus silently led him into his Potions lab, offering him a small smile of reassurance. Harry followed obediently; he was used to following directions, and he was almost happy that he was back to something he knew. Even though things were obviously different now, the fear that Harry was so used to living in couldn't go away in just a heartbeat.

Severus took a healing salve from his cupboard and sat Harry down on a stool. He also grabbed various potions and salves and lined them up on a small side table that he set up for the occasion.

"I'm going to heal you, Harry," Severus began explaining. "Do you know what that means?" He was purposely trying to get the child to talk as much as possible; although he wouldn't admit it, Severus had always hated silence. He didn't want his child to grow up the same way.

Harry took a few minutes before responding, and he seemed to be concentrating. Severus couldn't help but wonder in the silence how much schooling Harry had had; surely he should know what a doctor was. He couldn't deny that the boy had a relatively good grasp on language, but even with that fact the Potions Master doubted that Harry knew much.

Finally, Harry answered, and Severus smiled when he did. "It means that y-you're going to make me... better, right sir?" Harry said softly, carefully avoiding Severus' eyes.

Still smiling, Severus replied. "That's right, Harry. I'm going to make you feel better. It might hurt a little bit, though, but it will be over soon, okay?" Severus found it important to ask the boy's permission for everything; he had read somewhere that having a say in everything that went on in your life helped with self-confidence. Harry needed all the help he could get.

At Harry's nod of approval, he began to gently run the balm and salves across Harry's back and chest. Harry looked to be in pain, and Severus tried very hard to be as gentle as possible, whispering nothings of comfort to the boy.

Every once in a while Harry gasped, and Severus could clearly see the small tears that were running down his face, no matter how hard the boy was trying to conceal them. "Harry, it's all right to cry out," Severus said quietly. He couldn't help but wonder how the child could possibly stay so quiet. Any other child he knew would have been bawling and most likely screaming by this point; but Harry just stayed still and took the pain. _Probably some sort of rule at the Muggles',_ he thought to himself, cursing them for what seemed to be the millionth time.

Harry did cry out every once in a while after that, and Severus was glad that the boy had listened to him. Severus watched in satisfaction as the bruises quickly faded, and Harry looked up in amazement. "Thank you, sir! That feels so much better!"

Severus smiled. "You're welcome, Harry." He gently cupped the boy's chin in his hand. "Now, tell me: does anything else hurt?"

Harry smiled shyly in return and shook his head. "No, sir," he said.

Severus responded, "Harry, you don't have to call me sir."

Harry frowned and looked confused. "I don't? I thought I had to call everyone sir."

Severus said, "You do when it is a matter of respect," he said, thinking of the best way to explain it. "But I am your father, and you don't have to call me sir."

Harry squinted up at him through black, ugly glasses. "What does 'father' mean?"

Severus gasped aloud despite himself. The boy didn't know what 'father' meant? _Well,_ he admonished himself, _he is only seven. Perhaps he knows what it is, just doesn't recognize the word. I'll try a different one, one that a child so young might recognize. _Severus knew he had already told the child the fact that he was his daddy, so hopefully Harry would recognize that word.

"I'm your daddy," Severus repeated softly, looking at the green eyes with his own black ones.

Harry's eyes widened once again, and he looked at Severus uncertainly. "If you're my daddy, do you love me?"

Severus nodded. "Yes, Harry. I'm your daddy, and I love you."

Harry was silent for a long moment, looking up at Severus with eyes that revealed that everything wasn't as easy as most people would have hoped. However, Severus couldn't help but pull a gleam of hope from the boy's trusting attitude. Maybe, _maybe_, they could make this work.

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**I'm so sorry it's been so long. Over half a year, that's completely ridiculous. Regardless, here is an updated chapter.. Hopefully more will come soon. I know a lot of you can't review, but if you can and are still loyal to this story even after all this time, please review. Thanks :)**


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